Forget and Die
by InkyManipulation
Summary: You can't forget me. You can never forget my triumphs. I will haunt your days and every waking moment. To forget me, that is to die. Even if it comes years, days, weeks after you forget you will die.


Sandra laughed at the scared look on her husband's face. "Gerry, I would of thought you'd gotten used to that. I told you I'd keep my gutter mind!"

Gerry shook his head, "And here I thought I'd seen your worse. Remind me why I married you again?"

"My dear, most of that was light! And you married me because, oh let me recall your exact words, 'You've bewitched me and I just can't keep away.' Seem familiar?" Sandra gave a smug grin.

"I should have known that'd come back to get me..." He put on a woeful look, "And because of it I'm stuck with you!"

"Oh, your such a crybaby!" Sandra rolled her eyes.

"And you love me anyway. Right?" Gerry put on a puppy dog look, using his expressive blue eyes to his advantage.

Sandra caved like she always did, "Of course I do, you dummy! How else could I have survived 15 years of you?" She scooted closer to him on the couch and gave him a kiss.

They broke apart as the clock started chiming five in the afternoon. Gerry grinned, if there was one thing his wife could do, it was kiss. She was also accomplished at a lot of other things as well. Sandra was one of the best composers in Hollywood. Her music was some of the best around and she sometimes sang on the side.

"Sorry Gerry, I have to get to the studio. We're doing the recording for that one romance movie." Sandra stood up and straitened her blue button up shirt and black pants.

"Nothing to be sorry about. You've got a job to do after all and I should probably start on that next project." He gave her a quick kiss before letting her head out the door.

He's such a sweetheart. Sandra thought as she got into her Jeep, smiling. "Well, time to stop them from butchering my music."

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Gerry sighed as he stared at the screen, "What to write? What to write? What to write?" He banged his head against the back of chair in hopes of knocking an idea out. "Well, looks like that didn't work... Maybe the basement will have something for me."

He stood up and headed downstairs. The basement was where he got some of his best ideas for books; Sandra was such a pack rat that they had everything down there from opera cloaks to movies props. Gerry reached the bottom and turned on the light. He cringed at the mess that meet his eyes, she was also horrible at organizing.

About 30 minutes later he still had nothing when he tripped over something. Gerry swore as he got back to his feet, "I have got to talk to Sandra about organizing this place! That's got to be the tenth time I've tripped over something." Gerry looked around, "Wonder what did it this time?"

He spotted an arm sticking out from between some other props and saw that whatever it went to's leg was also sticking out in such a way that would trip anyone passing by. "So, that's what did it. Maybe this is the inspiration I've been needing..."

Gerry pushed aside the props to reveal a figure of a beautiful young woman in an astounding 18th century dress. She had waist length blond curly hair and naive, blue eyes that seemed as if they saw right to your heart, though they were only glass.

Gerry raised an eyebrow at it, "Now you are one freaky doll, you know that?" He shook his head, "I've got to start talking to Sandra 'bout the stuff she's been pack-rating down here."

"Ah, but Monsieur Gerald you always say that and you never do." Came an unearthly voice from everywhere and seemingly nowhere.

"What the hell? What was that!?" Gerry asked, looking around for the source of that heavenly voice.

He heard the voice again; it was that of women, "If you are looking for me, I am right in front of you Mousier Davis."

Gerry looked at the life-sized figure and shook his head, "Impossible. I must be hearing things."

"Who is to say if you are hearing things or not, Monsieur? Certainly not you." The figure said mockingly, its lips turning up into a cold smile.

"What is going on?!" Gerry asked harshly, fear in his eyes.

"Nothing and everything."

"Who are you? And why are you here?" He questioned, slowly backing away.

"I'm surprised at you Monsieur. Don't you recognize your dear little Lotte?" It replied, with a smirk on its face that seemed completely alien to it.

Gerry gasped, he remembered now. Some 24 years ago, after a harsh break up with one of his girlfriends, he had discovered "The Phantom of the Opera". He'd quickly grown obsessed with it, especially with Christine.

One day he'd been walking though on older part of town, trying to get some ideas for an original story he'd been working on. Suddenly a woman had run past him in hysterics, screaming something about being haunted by a monster. In her wake, she had left behind a delicate porcelain doll, which had miraculously survived the fall unscathed. Gerry had taken it home with him as it had borne a remarkable resemblance to Leroux's Christine.

He had perched it by his writing desk and when it was there he'd be given the most haunting ideas for stories. The words flowing from his pen to form descriptions that would chase themselves around in Gerry's head for hours after he had set it down. Soon after he had been unable to stop writing, an insidious, beautiful voice forcing him to continue on. It would refuse to let him sleep or eat for days at a time and he had found himself unable to do anything, but obey it.

"Ah, I see you're remembering now Gerry dear. How sweet of you. Yes, a voice is a powerful weapon is it not?" Christine mocked, a cruel smile upon her innocent face. "But words also seem to hold a power not easily matched. As you demonstrated so long ago."

"You." Gerald accused, his voice dripping with fear and loathing.

"Yes, me" Christine said, smiling coldly. "The one who made you what you are today. Obsession is such a fleeting yet inspiring thing, isn't it Monsieur?

"You did nothing for me, you whore!" He exclaimed furiously.

"Now, now Gerald there is no need for that. So watch your tongue or else things might become unpleasant for you. After all, your life is but a thread that may be snapped by anyone." Christine chided threateningly.

"I destroyed you last time and I can do it again!"

She gave an elegant snort, "You believe so? I have just come to give you a message and set events into motion."

"What the hell do you mean?!" Came the angry reply.

"We do not take kindly to being forgotten Gerald Davis. Once you have found us you can never leave us behind within your memories to gather dust. The consequence for forgetting is death." She told him as she threw the noose around his neck with practiced ease and gave it a quick jerk. Gerald Davis died with a question on his lips that would never be answered. But Christine knowing what it would be, gave him an answer.

"Little Lotte learned more then just music from her angel, you know." Christine tenderly told Gerry's now soulless shell as she removed the lasso from his neck.

Sandra returned home from the studio later that evening to find a note waiting for her on the kitchen counter, written in an elegant hand. It expressed the writer's deepest condolences of the tragic early death of her husband and indicated that she would find him in the cellar. The note was simply signed with the initials, _C.D_


End file.
